The Hairdresser

We painted the city
with bicycle tracks,
we crossed the Granville Street Bridge,
and explored Stanley Park.
We were best friends then,
and lovers too. We had
plans for our future
together.

But we fought
over ridiculous things:
I made more money.
You wouldn’t clean.
We made up excuses
for blasting each other.
We grew silent.
Remember.

And so we divided,
separated lives,
both dented
and bruised.

Then you met her.

And I did your hair
for your wedding
today.